The Devil in Maryvale
The Maryvale Cozy Mysteries
Book One
by
Jackie Griffey
NEWLY REVISED
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Chapter 1
Two of Sheriff Cas Larkin's officers, Deputy Doug Freeman and Deputy Haines, drove slowly, Doug keeping his eyes on the road and the underbrush that lined Highway 220 north of Maryvale. Doug was the youngest of Sheriff Cas Larkin's deputies.
"We'll have to cut through the woods and cross that narrow stream of water to get to the back of The Roadhouse. I'm glad I've got my boots on," he said.
Senior Deputy Randal Haines nodded his head in agreement. The Roadhouse, a local barbecue joint, had reported trouble with a drunk customer taking someone hostage. Just another routine call for the Pine County, Tennessee, Sheriff's Office.
The two officers were to approach from the rear, backing up Sheriff Larkin who would take the front entrance. The place and most of the underbrush around it had been there since Hector was a pup, and the Roadhouse property backed up to a small branch of the river.
Haines sighed. There was no other way to get through the wild, thorny growth on the old fence at the back of the place. Both Freeman and Haines philosophically accepted local conditions as the price you had to pay for living in a small southern town in general and Pine County, Tennessee, in particular.
Haines nodded as he warily eyed his side of the road. "Looks pretty overgrown here. But it's been cleared a little farther on and a couple of picnic tables put back by the tree line. You can pull off there." He paused and smiled at his young partner. "We're probably in more danger from ticks drinking us dry than drowning," he teased Doug.
Freeman soon spotted the picnic tables and pulled the car onto the shoulder far enough to clear the road. He was as leery as his boss, Cas Larkin, about dust or mud on his car, and looked a little encouraged as he and Haines got out.
"This is better than I was expecting. Hope our luck holds and the water isn't very deep." He grinned and held up one hand with his fingers crossed. Freeman, at twenty-five, was not only the youngest of the Pine County deputies, he was the most optimistic.
"Shouldn't be." Haines spoke as he walked, his long legs covering the ground quickly. "The growth on that old fence in back of the Roadhouse is so thick you'd never get in that way. It wouldn't be worth your uniform to try and bully your way through it. Not to mention what all that holly and wild roses would do to your hide. Makes the water sound downright good. And I'm permanent press from the skin out."
"Yeah. I am too. My wife's as practical as the county about anything that has to be ironed or dry cleaned."
* * *
They walked single file on a path local fishermen must have worn in the weeds. Randal Haines was the oldest of the Pine County deputies and retiring soon. With his head turned to admire the scenery and part of his mind on his retirement plans, Haines bumped into his young partner.
"Hey! What's the idea? You didn't signal you were going to stop! You traffic hazard, you!" Haines chuckled good-naturedly.
There was no answer. Deputy Freeman stood rooted to the ground. His eyes stared ahead and to the right of the path. Haines followed his line of vision as Doug raised his arm and pointed a not too steady finger.
"Over there," Doug managed to get out. "The other side of the path. There's, there's something or someone behind that tree."
* * *
Meanwhile, at the Roadhouse, Sheriff Cas Larkin stood outside questioning the manager of the restaurant as Senior Deputy Rhodes watched.
"You called this in? About some trouble-makers?" Cas nodded toward the closed door.
"Yes, sir. I made it to the outside phone there and called you. Never thought I'd be so glad to see one of your cars pull in here." Heavyset, wiping perspiration from his brow with his apron, the man certainly looked miserable enough to be telling the truth.
"How many of them are there?"
"There were four of them that came in together. Two of them left when they saw the sign that said they couldn't get beer on the weekend. Then of the two that are still here, one of them was too far gone for anything that happened to make any difference to him, but the other one must have been watching too much television." He shrugged, "Turns out he had a gun and he's holding four of the other customers hostage until he gets a beer. He thinks he's a big guy and it's a big joke to him. But he's drunk and he's waving a gun around."
His worried eyes pleaded for help. "He could hurt somebody."
Cas knew it was a personal sacrifice for the Roadhouse owner and manager to call for help. He knew how hard he tried to keep anyone from calling about trouble there because he was trying hard to put up a good, safe front and keep the local churches off his back. There were rumors about how hard the churches had to lean on him to get him to quit selling beer on weekends. This wasn't going to help the place's reputation any.
Cas looked around the place, picturing about where his back-up deputies were at the moment. The Roadhouse was in a building so old Cas couldn't remember when it was built or what it was originally for. And every change of owners seemed to make a difference only on the inside, not the grounds around it.
"You said it's a hostage situation in there?"
The manager nodded. His hands twisted his apron, his worried eyes going to the closed door.
"Is there only one of them in there with the hostages? The one you said has a gun?"
"Yes, Sheriff Larkin. I mean, well, as I said there's one of his beer buddies in there with him. But I don't think he knows what's going on if you know what I mean."
Cas pinned him down. "Dead drunk?"
"Yeah, out of it. And," he quickly added. "He was that way before he got here, too. I didn't give them, any of them, anything to drink. Not getting any beer was what set them off."
Cas nodded. "Do you know for sure how many people he's holding in there?"
"Four. There's four of them. Two men who came in alone and a nice elderly couple." He shook his head. "I feel bad about that. The old folks come here often for the barbecue. I'd hate to see them get hurt. Having a gun waved at them is scary enough, without being held hostage. I feel bad about it," he repeated.
He looked down at his scuffed up shoes as if he meant it.
Cas raised the manager a notch in his estimation for his concern but made no comme
nt. He waved him back and warily approached the closed door.
Standing to one side, Cas drew his gun. With his other hand he knocked with loud authority on the battered looking door of the restaurant.
"This is Sheriff Cas Larkin," he called in his no-nonsense voice. "Open this door and let those people in there with you come out. Now!"
The answer was a shot which lodged in the wooden door near the bottom, and a derisive guffaw. Cas also heard a feminine scream that was quickly cut off.
Inside, the husband of the woman who had screamed at the shot held his wife in his arms, her white head cradled on his chest.
"It'll be all right, Annie. It'll be all right," he told her softly.
The gun swiveled around to cover the two of them. "That's right, it'll be all right. You just keep your mouth shut so they won't think they've got to come chargin' in here shootin' or nothing! You hear?"
The woman made a little moaning sound and her husband nodded.
"Why don't you just let them out," one of the other hostages reasoned. "You'll still have two to bargain with." The speaker was in his middle twenties and the other hostage about his age nodded agreement.
"You're so smart, maybe I should just hand you this gun and see if YOU can get us some beer." The hostage taker sneered. He looked at the bar as if he hated it. "Might know the stingy crud would have all his stock locked up in the back room and the taps shut off. All of you just keep your mouths shut, you hear?"
No one said anything. Both the young men were wearing khaki work clothes and had come in alone. The one who had made the suggestion gave a slight shrug, glancing again at the other one. Both appeared to be cooperative, waiting out this crisis. They looked away from the gunman, not wanting to set him off again. The hand with the gun in it looked pretty shaky. They watched apprehensively as he went a little closer to the door and shouted again.
"Sheriff, you want these people out there, I'll swap them to you for beer. And since I'm holdin' all the aces, I want a six pack for these four citizens, you hear me?"
Cas held his gun steady, his eyes raking the scene to make sure no one was too close to the door before he spoke again.
"Yeah. I hear you, and I know you can hear me. What do you think the odds are on you getting that beer?"
"Not too freakin' great from what I hear about you. But what's the big deal about a little beer?"
The beer and the stress were beginning to tell on the heretofore brave, self-styled bandit. He began to whine as he got to the begging stage. Beginning to sober up a little he realized he'd caused himself worse trouble than he'd bargained for. The game wasn't funny any more. The two men in khaki were afraid of what he might do on purpose or accidentally as his general condition degenerated. He was still waving the gun around. As the hostages watched, braced to duck bullets any minute, he faced the door and yelled again.
"If I let these people come out, what's going to happen to me?"
The answer was immediate and positive. "The same thing that happens to any disorderly drunk that threatens people's lives and takes hostages." Cas glanced at the Roadhouse manager who was as familiar with all the drunk stages as he was.
"There are a few other things I could charge you with too," Cas warned. "But those are the main ones. You'd be doing yourself a favor to get those people out of there."
The Roadhouse manager nodded hopefully at that, his face still crumpled up with worry.
"Maybe they won't want to come out now," Cas called a little louder. "Maybe they'll all want to sue you. You'd be better off in jail. You'd better give your situation some serious thought."
"Aw, gee!" The wail was almost crying. "I don't know how we got to this! All any of us wanted was a little beer to wash down our barbecue."
"All I know is those people are still in there. There's no progress being made as far as I can see, and you're getting in deeper trouble all the time."
"Supposin' I was to let them come out. How long would I have to stay in jail, assuming you're going to put me there just soon as you get a chance?"
"You assume right." The answer was chiseled in stone. Cas remembered the scream that was so suddenly cut off. He'd heard no other voices besides that and the self-styled bandit demanding beer. "Are any of them hurt?"
"No! I never hurt nobody, never meant to hurt nobody. They'll tell you that themselves."
"In that case, I'll charge you with being drunk and disorderly and let you out in twenty-four hours. First, open the door and scoot that gun out with your foot. Then let those people in there with you come out. Then you stand in front of the door with your hands where I can see them. Your brain too pickled to understand all that?"
"Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. I understand. I will. I'll do that." Thirst and desperation seemed to be working on his manners.
A few seconds later the door opened a few inches and a small hand gun was put gently on the asphalt outside the door, the hand quickly withdrawn.
Cas eyed the weapon. "Little twenty-two pistol," he told the manager.
"Probably got it at some knife and gun show." Rhodes looked it over from where he stood.
The manager raised his eyes and held his breath, watching as the door opened wider. They heard footsteps inside.
He, Cas, and Rhodes looked closely at them as the hostages filed out. They seemed to be all right.
Cas noted there were four of them as the manager had told him. An elderly man and woman were closely followed by two men who were wearing khaki work clothes. There was the trace of tears on the woman's cheeks. None of them looked happy, but they were all right.
Rhodes moved to stand beside Cas, his eyes on the door, waiting for the trouble maker.
As soon as the hostages cleared the door the Roadhouse manager hurried to meet them, talking fast. He promised all of them vouchers for complimentary meals and apologized for the unpleasantness.
"I'm so sorry...." Cas heard the manager's voice like background music while he watched the door.
Now he could see the would-be bandit standing just inside. He had both hands over his head, a worried look beneath the five o'clock shadow on his face. He stood still, waiting for whatever fate Cas had in store for him. The expression on his face showed he knew it wouldn't be good, but he stood there silently, his hands over his head. Cas and Rhodes could see the feet of his friend who was lying on the floor beyond him as they went in to handcuff the hostage taker.
"You drive a hard bargain, Sheriff Larkin." The hostage taker found his voice again. "All I wanted was a couple of beers for me and my friend here."
He put on as pitiful a face as he could at the injustice of it all. Self-pity oozed from every pore.
"Um-hum, your buddy there sure seems to be in need of another beer." With his foot, Cas nudged the man lying on the floor. He slept on, blissfully unaware of any problems at all.
"He looks as comfortable as a hound dog under a porch." Cas almost grinned at the open mouth and comical expression.
Rhodes touched the vertical drunk's shoulder. "Turn around and put your hands behind you."
"Before you do that, help your buddy up. He's going with you." Cas jerked his head toward the docile dreamer.
The hostage taker got his friend up with a little help from Rhodes. The groggy buddy roused a little as they worked to get him on his feet. Slumping, half awake, he leaned unsteadily against the wall. He stared groggily around, his attention caught by his friend the hostage taker, who was complaining again.
Then the back door opened and Deputy Freeman came in, quickly sizing up the situation.
Cas motioned to him. He went to help Rhodes get the two drunks cuffed and out to the car. As Deputy Freeman passed him, Cas noted his soaked uniform and the strange expression on his face.
"Where's Haines, Doug? One was enough to cover the back door. Did he stay to drive the car back?"
"I wish that was it," Doug said with feeling. "Now that these guys are in the car I'll go back and get our car and take you over there. Haines d
idn't have any choice about staying there. I'll hurry."
"No need," Cas cut him off. He remembered the old adage about calamities coming in threes and it did seem his own cases came in bunches like bananas most of the time.
Dread tensed the muscles in the back of his neck as he spoke. "We can go around in this car. It won't hurt these two to wait a little longer to sleep off their beer."
Cas eyed the wet uniform again. "Looks like the water was a little deeper than I thought."
"Yes, sir." Deputy Freeman managed a weak smile. "We've been discussing the advantages of wash and wear."
"Tell me, what is it that's keeping Haines back there?"
Rhodes had come to stand beside Cas, their attention on the young deputy.
"I, we found a body, sir. A teenager." He added sadly, "It's a young girl."
Chapter 2
Arriving at the place Haines and Doug had gone into the woods, Rhodes parked behind their patrol car. Cas checked the prisoners. They sat, one asleep with his mouth open, the other looking sullen and mean. But quiet. The mean one's personal war was over. He'd lost and he knew it. Cas spoke to his young deputy.
"Doug, call in and get the coroner's office out here. Rhodes and I will wait here for them. I'll send Haines back with you to take care of these two guests of the county."
"Yes, sir."
Walking behind Rhodes on the path toward the tree line, Cas sighed, remembering the suspicions he had had at breakfast that morning. It was as if fate had let him get that good breakfast to tide him over for what the rest of his day had in store. He hadn't known how well off he was.
* * *
The day had started out better than good. It was his weekend to work and the good scents from downstairs had lured Cas to the kitchen earlier than usual for a Saturday breakfast he had not expected. What he expected was a cup of coffee and a doughnut, if he was lucky, at the office. He sniffed, narrowing his eyes at his wife, Connie, as he entered the kitchen.
"Do I smell sausage?"
He paused and closed his eyes to savor the aroma. Then he carefully lowered his six foot frame into his chair at the head of the table. He half expected to wake up, his sleepy head on the table in the break-room.
The Devil in Maryvale Page 1